


Let's make it official (nothing can tear us apart)

by waterbird13



Series: Writing our own Vows [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fluff, M/M, Proposals, Switching, bit of begging, domestic happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complete fluffy domestic happiness that is also about fifty percent porn. Dean has a big question for Sam, Sam has a response he didn't quite expect, they celebrate in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's make it official (nothing can tear us apart)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone--  
> I just really needed a fic where no one is mad or angry or upset in any way, where everything is just pure domestic happiness. Here it is.
> 
> Warning for explicit, incestuous gay sex, dirty talk, fluff, and...I actually think that's it.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

            “You sure these will work?”

            “God, yes, Dean. You act like this is the first time I’ve done this.”

            “Gimme a break, Charlie. Sam an’ I need to live with these forever. They need to work.”

            “And they will. None of my IDs have ever let me down. No one will say anything about them.”

            “And…the rings? You liked those, right? You didn’t just tell me you liked them to shut me up?”

            “Dean, they’re silver bands. You can’t screw that up. They’re fine. They’re great. Sam is gonna love it.”

            “I hope so.”

 

            Dean has planned it all out.

            There’s a box, under the couch. Kevin and Cas are gone with Charlie, who knows where and who cares. Sam will be home any time now, probably ready to settle in for a long night in the library.

            Dean is kind of hoping it’ll go a different way. Not that he’s opposed to having sex in the library (they’ve done it before), but they have a nice memory foam mattress down the hall, and a big shower, and all sorts of other places that are nicer to fuck in than the library.

            He’s finishing dinner—baked chicken, and broccoli, and a salad, and baked potatoes, healthy food that Sam likes—when he hears the door creaking open, and unless one of their friends has a death wish, Sam is home.

            “Dean?” Sam calls from the balcony. “Guys?”

            “In the kitchen, Sammy,” Dean calls back. He hears thumping of the booted feet of a sasquatch on the stairs and then Sam enters the kitchen.

            Dean turns and kisses him. He has some notion that it was meant to be chaste, but they only break apart when the oven timer beeps to let him know the potatoes are done.

            “Where is everybody?” Sam asks as he takes plates from Dean and sets two place settings.

            “Out,” Dean simply says, keeping it simple both as a testament to his complete and utter lack of desire to talk about anyone other than himself and Sam, but also because he has no idea whatsoever where they are. “Just you an’ me tonight, baby.”

            Dean doesn’t even have to turn around to see Sam’s eye roll, though he has noticed that Sam protests far less to the endearment when they’re naked. Still, when they’re alone, Sam usually lets Dean get away with his sappy side without too much protest.

            Dinner is delicious, but Dean doesn’t really taste too much of it. He’s too busy watching Sam eat, watching his mouth move and his throat work, watching those long, capable fingers grip a fork.

            “I have something on my face?” Sam asks when he catches Dean staring at him yet again.

            “No, you’re good,” Dean says, and Sam just gives him a strange look before turning back to his meal.

            Desert is, of course, an apple pie, with ice cream and whipped cream, and Dean takes it over to the couch. Whipped cream, as it does, gets everywhere, and Dean takes great pleasure licking it off of Sam’s lips and chin. One lick strays a little too far inside Sam’s mouth, and things get heated before Dean reminds himself to pull away.

            Sam is confused, of course he is, because Dean has never pulled away in living memory without a gaping wound or serious illness to explain why.  Sometimes, he doesn’t even pull away then. He’d once talked Sam into exchanging hand jobs in a hospital when he’d had sixteen stiches in his side. The nurse hadn’t technically caught them that night, but she definitely knew what they had just done. Sam’s raging blush might have given them away.

            Sam leans in to try for another kiss, and Dean lets him for a minute before raising his hands to Sam’s shoulders and gently pushing him away.

            “Dean—“ Sam begins, but Dean is getting nervous now, now that he’s staring down the figurative barrel—he thinks he’d rather stare down a real one—and he can’t listen to Sam talk, can’t wait any longer and still succeed in getting all this out.

            So Dean leans closer to Sam, but instead of kissing him—like Sam is so obviously angling for—he rests his face so they are cheek to cheek, his lips brushing Sam’s ear.

            “Sammy,” he says softly. “Got something to say.”

            Sam huffs a laugh. “Then say it,” he says, but he quiets when one of Dean’s hands squeezes his thigh.

            “Shut up, Sammy. This is hard enough.”

            Sam laces his fingers with Dean’s. “Go ahead then. I won’t interrupt.”

            “I love you, Sammy,” he starts, because, really, that seems like a good start. Might as well be _really_ sappy while he’s making the biggest declaration of his life. “I love you, and, uh, I hope you love me too. And. Well. We’ve been together for-fucking-ever, right?”

            Sam hums his agreement and squeezes Dean’s hand a little tighter. “This isn’t some _we should see other people_ speech, is it? ‘Cause Dean, I’m gonna fucking kill you if it is.”

            Dean blinks, because he didn’t realize Sam was going to get _that_ from what he’s saying. “What? No, it’s—you said you weren’t gonna interrupt, asshole. Let me finish.”

            So Sam quiets back down and Dean takes a deep breath before opening his mouth again.

            “I—Christ, this isn’t going like I thought it would. I—I just—fuck it.  Sammy, will you marry me?”

            Sam pulls back sharply, and Dean feels his heart sink. Sam is disgusted, freaked out. But no. Sam’s eyes say different.

            “You…you want to…what?” Sam asks. “Dean, man, don’t fuck with me.”

            Dean leans forward again, untangling his hand from Sam’s so he can frame Sam’s face, directing it so they’re looking eye to eye. “Sammy, I swear, I’m not. Look, Sammy. Screw it. Chick flick moment here, alright? I love you. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. And nothin’ is gonna change if we get married, we’ll still just be us. But, you know, with rings and shit.”

            Sam laughs at that, but it sounds a bit strangled. “I—Dean, have you lost your mind? We can’t get married.”

            “Why not?” Dean challenges.

            Sam laughs again. “Well, for one, everyone thinks we’re dead. Hard to apply for a marriage license for two dead guys. Even if we weren’t dead, everyone thinks we’re mass murderers. Also, we’re two guys. In Kansas. And did you forget that we’re also _brothers?_ ”

            Before Sam can start up again, Dean takes the box from underneath the couch and shoves it into Sam’s hands.

            “What’s this?”

            Dean smiles nervously at him. “Open it.” Sap carefully pries open the tabs and Dean begins to ramble. “This…this wasn’t impulsive, Sammy. I really thought about this. Charlie helped me a bit. There’re, uh, rings in there. You know, I probably should’ve kneeled, huh? Given you the box like that. But I didn’t want you to think that I thought you were a girl or somethin’. ‘Cause you’re not,” he says with a quick glance to Sam’s crotch. “But it’s not just rings.”

            Sam pulls out the leaf of documents and flips through them, eyes taking in the names. “Dean Smith and Sam Wesson?” he asks, wry turn to his lips.

            Dean shrugs. “Works, doesn’t it? If you want, you and I can do the whole thing. Those names are clean. They’re not brothers. They’re just two guys who happen to be in love. They can…can go to Massachusetts or New York or fucking Canada if you want, and they can get married there.”

            Sam runs his hand across a birth certificate for Sam Wesson. “You really wanna do this? The whole get married thing? In a church?”

            Dean fiddles with a loose thread in his cuff. “If that’s what you want, sure. Or we could go to a courthouse. Or, you know, whatever you want.”

            Sam snorts. “I don’t need some piece of paper, Dean.”

            Dean blushes, mortified, and wonders how this all went so wrong. “Right, yeah, this was—this was stupid.”

            Sam pulls him close and rests their foreheads together once more. “No, Dean. It wasn’t. It’s—it’s amazing of you to do all this. But I don’t want to get married as Smith and Wesson. We’re Winchesters. I don’t give a fuck ‘bout those assholes.”

            Dean grunts in frustration. “Well, Sam, don’t see what else to do, ‘cause as you pointed out, we can’t get married.”

            Sam suddenly takes Dean’s left hand in his right. He separates Dean’s fingers and slips one of the rings from the box onto Dean’s ring finger. “I, Sam Winchester,” he breathes, “take Dean Winchester to be my husband. I promise you I will be worthy of your trust, I vow to respect you, cherish you, love you, as long as…forever,” Sam finishes.

            Dean’s breath catches, because he’s thought about this happening, but he hasn’t thought _today,_ and he’s not the one with a way with words, he wishes he had something prepared. But he takes a deep breath and blindly fumbles for the other ring, taking Sam’s left hand in his right. “I, Dean Winchester,” he says, “take Sam Winchester to be my husband. I promise to be faithful, I vow to respect you, cherish you, uh, love you, forever,” he says.

            Sam’s grin is blinding as he reaches up for Dean’s face and pulls him into a kiss. Dean can feel the still slightly cool metal of Sam’s ring on the side of his face as they kiss. It warms against his skin until it feels as natural as anything else.

            They pull apart a few minutes later, just breathing in each other’s air. Finally Sam speaks. “We’re married,” he says, looking at his hand in awe.

            Dean snorts. “Not technically,” he points out.

            Sam rolls his eyes. “We’re married.”

            And Dean silently agrees with him, because, yeah, while maybe there’s not a piece of paper saying that they’re married, they have rings and they made promises and they both know it. It counts.

            Dean kisses Sam again, then rests his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. “You know you already have my trust, right? Always.”

            Sam kisses Dean’s temple. “And you know I know that you’ll be faithful? ‘Cause I know you’re capable of keeping it in your pants.”   

            Dean chuckles. “I flirt with everyone, Sammy, but I only put out for you. Just wanna make sure you know that.”

            Sam smiles into the side of Dean’s neck. “I know,” he whispers. “And I know you trust me, Dean. Just…want you to know I’m always gonna work to keep it.”

            Dean twists his neck so he can kiss whatever parts of Sam’s head that he can reach.             “Don’t have to work for it, baby,” he says. “You have my trust, have me.”

            Sam pulls away but takes Dean’s hands in his. “Why are we sitting down here being sappy? We just got married.”

            Dean grins. “Right. We should be havin’ hot sex right now.”

            Sam snorts but doesn’t dispute it, and begins to tug Dean down the hall. Dean lets him pull him, and he has to admit, it feels really fucking nice to know Sam is so damn eager to get him naked. He wonders what’s coming tonight. There’s not a lot they haven’t done together. Well, okay. There’s a lot they haven’t done together, when Dean stops to consider the whole wide world of really out there—and some typically common—kinks, but there’s not a whole lot out there that they wanted to try and haven’t.

            Sam turns to him right outside their door. “When are the others getting home?”

            Dean scrunches his face, thrown by the massive change in subject. “Uhm, tomorrow sometime. Why?”

            Sam grins at him. “Because,” he says simply, and then he flips Dean so Dean is pressed against the wall, Sam pinning him there with his bulk, and Sam kisses him hard, nearly bruising. Dean bites at Sam’s lips, and their kisses devolve into a passionate, sloppy mess until they break apart, lips just resting together, breathing each other’s air while they pant.

            “Because,” Sam finally says, and it takes Dean’s brain a moment to catch up, to remember they were having a conversation before Sam’s sneak attack. “Because I’m going to make you scream tonight. Have the whole place to ourselves, you can be as loud as you want.”

            Dean whimpers, thinking of exactly how loud the both of them are going to get. Thinks of exactly what he can do to Sam to make him scream and beg and moan, and thinks of what Sam is probably going to do to him.

            “Fuck,” he whispers.

            Sam grins. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you first? Or you me? We’ve got hours to go, Dean. Figure we’ll go till we pass out. Maybe the others’ll come home, and we’ll still be goin’ at it. Give them a bit of a show, huh?”

            Dean can’t decide how he’s supposed to react, because on the one hand, he can admit that he has a bit of an exhibitionist streak. But the thought of their friends hearing them, hearing _Sam,_ the man he married, the man who is _Dean’s_ now, as surely as Dean is Sam’s…

            Sam chuckles, the puffs of air blowing across Dean’s parted lips. “Cat got your tongue? Already? C’mon, Dean, wanna hear you tonight.”

            Dean growls and flips them around, so Sam is the one pressed against the wall. Sam seems pretty comfortable there, pushing back against Dean, grinding their hips together. Dean shoves back, wraps his hands around Sam’s hips and pins him in place. Sam whines a bit when he can’t get friction anymore, and Dean’s grin is absolutely sinful.

            “Yeah, Sammy? Wanna hear me? Want me to tell you what I’m gonna do to you tonight?” He murmurs, voice low and smooth. Sam’s hips jerk and he grunts. “Wanna ride me, Sammy? Let’s start with that. You’re gonna ride me, gonna do all the work while I lie back and watch that pretty body stretch and twist. Hear those pretty moans. God, you sound like a fucking porn star when you ride me.”

            Sam suddenly pushes off, using his strength to move Dean. He grabs Dean’s hand and tugs him into the bedroom, apparently done with their hallway foreplay. Which is an idea Dean can totally get behind, because, truth be told, he needs to get his pants off sooner rather than later.

            Sam seems to have the same idea, because before Dean even gets over to their bed, Sam has his over-shirt off. But Dean stops him from taking off any more layers. Sam whines in protest, but it quickly changes to a moan of pleasure when he realizes that all Dean wants to do was take Sam’s clothes off himself. Sam quickly gets with the program and starts pulling at Dean’s clothes. They’re too turned on to be very coordinated, but they get each other naked quickly enough. Sam kisses Dean hard while pushing him backwards onto the bed, crawling up over him.

            He suddenly turns himself over Dean’s torso, so his ass is over Dean’s face and his mouth inches from Dean’s cock. Dean whimpers, knows what Sam wants.

            Sam turns his head enough so he can make eye contact and breaks out the sinful, lecherous grin that never fails in making Dean’s cock twitch. He feels a glob of pre-come jerk onto his stomach and moans. “Yeah, Dean, c’mon, open me up,” he says. “Make me nice an’ sloppy, wanna ride you, wanna feel you in me.”

            Dean arches his neck up and licks at Sam, tracing his rim with his tongue. Sam grunts and pushes his ass back, trying to get Dean’s tongue exactly where he wants it. “Patience,” Dean growls against Sam’s skin, and the vibration make Sam break into a full-body shiver.

            Dean licks around the rim a few more minutes before hardening his tongue and pressing it into Sam. Sam moans and finally sinks down, his lips wrapped around Dean’s cock. Dean wishes he could watch Sam, watch his lips stretch and saliva slide down his chin as he sucks Dean. But his face is pressed into Sam’s ass, and he’s definitely not complaining about the view he has at the moment.

           Sam takes him all the way down and Dean bucks up in Sam’s mouth. One of Sam’s big, warm hands lands on Dean’s hip, holding him still, and Sam sinks back down, humming around Dean’s cock.

           Dean loses it then, moans and grunts and stabs his tongue as deep inside Sam as he can possibly get it, letting a mess of spit get everywhere. Finally, though, his neck begins to ache, so he fumbles blindly under the pillow for the bottle of lube. He slicks the fingers on his left hand and lets his head fall backwards. Sam grunts around Dean’s cock in protest, but before he can pull back to say anything, Dean has worked a finger inside him.

           Sam is slick from Dean’s tongue and already writhing on the finger, so Dean pushes another one in, seeks out Sam’s prostate and starts driving Sam crazy. He pulls off Dean’s cock, moaning and writhing and whimpering, and Dean doesn’t even care, because in a few minutes he’s going to be inside Sam.

           He slides in a third finger, and Sam nearly loses it when Dean’s wedding ring bumps against his skin. “God, Dean,” he whispers.

           Dean grins. “Like that, Sammy?” he asks, and Sam doesn’t answer, but his moans are pretty conclusive that Sam does, in fact, like it. Dean loves how incoherent Sam gets like this. Sam, who has an absolutely filthy mouth on him, who has the Stanford vocabulary and the way with words, will forget English and will sound like a damn porn star if he just gets something in his ass. Dean’s different. When Dean gets something in his ass, he starts mumbling and muttering and shouting the sappiest things, begins to sound like a teenage girl. It’s embarrassing, really. But Sam—well, it’s no wonder Dean loves fucking him. The sounds he makes are the hottest thing Dean has ever heard.

            Sam pulls away suddenly, Dean’s fingers sliding out of him. Dean takes a second to admire Sam’s asshole, stretched open and pink and shiny with spit and lube. He’s tempted to lean up and lick it again, even though he knows the lube will mask the taste of Sam.

            Before he can decide if it’s worth it to lick the lube away, Sam flips himself around so he’s facing Dean and, without preamble, sinks down onto Dean’s cock. He’s not slow about it, just bottoms out in one quick push. Sam’s ass is snuggled against Dean, and both of them moan, and it’s probably a good thing that everyone is out. Dean bets you could hear them from the library right now.

            Sam starts to move, slowly circling his hips, making short, aborted up-and-down movements, torturing both of them. Dean reaches for Sam’s hips, wanting to steer him into a more satisfying rhythm, but Sam bats his hands away.

            “Not yet, Dean,” he says, smirking slightly before the smirk falls away, replaced with a long groan as the angle shifts and Dean brushes Sam’s prostate. Still, the pace doesn’t change. Sam’s breathing harder now, managing to brush his prostate every few rotations of his hips, but it’s not enough and they both know it.

            “C’mon, Dean,” Sam says. “Tell me how much you want it.”

            Dean is so far past the point of restraint that it doesn’t even occur to him to not immediately begin begging. Sam said he wants to hear Dean tonight, and that’s exactly what he’s going to get. “God, please, Sammy, baby, please. Want you. Faster. Harder. Baby, baby, please. Need you.”

            Sam grins as Dean keeps babbling, and he finally lifts himself up, almost all the way off Dean’s cock before slamming back down. They both moan loudly, and Sam does it again.

            “Fuck,” Dean bites out. “Fuck, Sammy, baby, love you, love you so much, so good, so fucking good, that’s it, love you, baby.”

            Sam presses his hand onto Dean’s chest for leverage, and Dean reaches up to lace their fingers together, his other hand pressing into Sam’s hip, squeezing. Sam will probably have finger-shaped bruises there come morning, and, if Dean had the energy to do so, he’d grin at the idea. As it is, he’s too focused on Sam’s mouth, open wide and panting as Sam raises and lowers himself on Dean’s cock.

            Sam takes his free hand and brings it to his own cock, hard and leaking against his stomach. Dean lets go of Sam’s hip and moves Sam’s hand away, taking Sam’s cock in his own fist. Sam grunts and his rhythm stutters for a moment before he can find the balance of grinding up and down and pushing into Dean’s fist. Before long, Sam is letting out a constant, low moan and Dean knows he’s close. “C’mon, Sammy,” he encourages. “Come for me, baby. C’mon, baby, Sammy, love you, god, you feel so damn good, come for me, please, come for me.”

            Sam loses it then, crashing down onto Dean with what is possibly the loudest moan Dean has ever heard. His come goes everywhere, across both their stomachs, up to Dean’s chest. His hole flutters around Dean’s cock, tightening enough that Dean can’t hold out any longer. “Fuck, Sammy…” he practically screams as he comes. Sam’s moans grow louder.

            The two of them collapse into a sticky mess, Sam sprawled out in top of Dean. As soon as Sam’s breathing slows a bit, he reaches up and interlaces their free hands, stretching his arms out so Dean’s hands are pinned above his head.

            “Mmm,” Dean grunts when Sam’s hips start twitching. “Sam, I can’t go again. Not yet.”

            “Neither can I,” Sam murmurs. “Think you broke me, Dean. But you being in me feels so goddamn good.”

            Dean chuckles tiredly. “Won’t feel good later, baby. Don’t want you too sore. We gotta whole honeymoon to get through, still, after all.”

            Sam looks up at that. “Yeah?”

            Dean smiles. “Yeah, Sammy. Well, you said we’re goin’ tonight till we pass out, right? An’ then I was thinkin’, tomorrow, we can take off. Go wherever we want, no jobs, no calls, nothing but the two of us for a week. Maybe two.”

            Sam nuzzles against Dean’s cheek. “Where’re we goin’?”

            Dean struggles to think of an answer, because Sam has moved onto biting just beneath his ear, little nips that make Dean think maybe he’ll be ready to go again sooner than he thought. “Uhm, oh, god, that’s good—wherever you want, Sammy. Even some stupid museums, if that’s what you want.”

            Sam laughs, the puffs of breath rushing across the sensitive love bite on Dean’s neck. He shivers, his hands tightening in Sam’s. He can feel Sam’s wedding band against his right hand, and he thinks maybe he has a new kink.

            Sam licks at his collarbones. “How d’you feel ‘bout the beach?” Sam asks huskily. “You, me, a cooler of beers and the sun. How’s that sound?”

            Dean considers it. “I’ve never actually had sex on the beach,” he admits.

            Sam groans. “Sand will get everywhere, we’ll never get it out.”

            Dean’s smile turns lecherous. “Trust me, baby, I will find a way. We’re gonna go to the beach, drink cold beer, an’ I’m gonna watch you in some tight little swimsuit all day long, gonna watch you dripping wet after a swim. Then when night comes, you an’ I are definitely gonna have sex on the beach.”

             Sam pulls back so they can look each other in the eyes. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Sounds good, Dean. But first,” he says, grinning. “We had plans for the rest of tonight. And,” he says as he pulls off of Dean, come dripping out of Sam and onto Dean’s thighs as Sam pushes back on his heels, observing Dean like a feast spread out just for him, “I promised to make you scream.”


End file.
